the grief that has grown roots
in my stomach winds its way
up behind my ribs with the
intention to bruise,
and lodges in my throat

fifteen years later,
and i still can’t say your
name out loud

so i cry into shaking hands,
instead, one over my face,
the other balled into a fist
that i bite down on

under the light of a cold
moon that is closer than you
are to me, i sob out all
the breath in my lungs

and it’s been so long,
my old friend,
that i can’t remember what i
said the last time i saw you

but i wish i had said more,
sat beside you a little longer,
lingered under your smile
like it was the sun after
so long in the rain

i wish you could see
what i’ve made of myself,
the tattoo on my right shoulder
i gripped so hard while tears
soaked into my pillowcase

and when you’re still gone
in the morning, gone where i
still can’t follow to the clearing at
the end of the path

i’ll brush myself off and
continue on,
until we meet again,
my old friend

sore and sweaty in the
dishpit at work,
well-worn boots on my feet
that i’d had for years before
i even knew what the words
queer and trans meant

and the black jeans that
i’ve been wearing for two days
to go with the black box dye
staining my hair

laura jane grace sings to
me through the radio
speakers about being androgynous

and i think about my gender then,
feel the ridges stretch where *******
once sat when i reach just far enough
to grab more dishes stacked beside me

mostly, i think about how
my girlhood felt like the steel jaws
of a spring loaded trap,
and no matter how hard i tried,
i could never gnaw off my
own limb to get free

i think of the testosterone for
a little over five years,
and a double mastectomy,
and the $200 to change my
name and gender marker

i ran from my girlhood
as far and fast as i could,
into the arms of the man
i made myself to be

and then i think of you,
long hair and longer legs,
twirling around in that skirt
i gave you

your womanhood is a gift,
one that i am forever humbled
to witness you reveling in,
watching you embrace everything
that i felt held back by

for you, to be a woman
is not a steel trap,
nor a choke-chain
or something to run from

for you,
to be a woman is a
beautiful thing,
and how beautiful you are

this ship and i
have both got ribs,
crafted from wood and bone,
both housing something greater
than the sum of our parts

but even wood,
even bone,
can splinter and break

and, my heart,
my love,
there is no sign of land

perhaps there has not been
for quite some time,
but like the lovesick fool
that i am, the majesty of

the open ocean and the bright
skies above captured my attention
more than that lonely little spit
of shore growing ever smaller
in the distance ever could

and maybe the answer that
i seek slumbers at the bottom
of the ocean, far from the sun
and the salty tears
of silly bards

for i never was much of
a sailor, much preferring the
company of you and a bottle
of spiced *** to the creaking
ship boards under my boots

and there is no sign of land,
and i hope i never get sober,
and maybe i’ll get to see
your lovely crooked teeth one
more time as you smile so wide
and hold me close

and wouldn’t that be nice,
oh captain of mine?

it’s not that i hate
the girl i (maybe)
used to be

i just never wanted
to be her

and there were no
instructions for me to follow
on how to pretend
to be like the other girls

how to wear skirts,
dresses, long hair in braids,
how not to flinch when
called my mother’s daughter

and the way that the pretty girl
with the long brown hair
saving a seat on the bus for me
made me feel like my heart
was in my throat and beating
its way out of my chest
all at the same time?

how was i supposed to handle that?
wanting to hold this girls hand,
and being almost overwhelmed with
joy when she actually let me

and the first boy i kissed
told me i was a pretty girl,
and it made me want to puke

and when i was able
to fix all that with testosterone
and top surgery and not even
bleeding when i shaved for the first time,
can you blame me for wanting
to forget that i ever was her?

i just didn’t know how to
miss someone i never wanted to be,
how to grieve for this girl
that always felt so wrong
in her own skin

and while i still can’t
remember her as fondly
as i might one day be able to,
i love that girl

i love that girl,
holding a bouquet of bright yellow
scotch broom, with messy braids
and the holes in the knees
of her jeans

you were a shooting star
that always passed me by
and i wished on you
everytime

maybe you’d let me
hold your hand,
lay my head on your shoulder,
stay one more night

yelling my wishes
as a cloudless sky
watches me, reaching for
the man in the moon with
my booted feet firmly planted
on the hard ground

and maybe if i could
find enough wooden boards
and rope, i could build a
ladder that would reach you

but is that something
that you would even want,
my love?

that’s not really something
that i can ask,
would ruin the magic of this
hopeful romantic,
falling in love again and again

so i’ll settle for a star,
hold it close in my steady hands,
and think of you as i fall
back to earth

while it may be true
that the way to a man’s
heart is through his stomach,
i chose to crack open my
ribcage for you

and your longing was just
as hungry as mine,
two beasts that devour
in the same way

what a feast
my heart would make for you,
my love

all you have to do is ask
and i will fill this table to creaking
with all the foods you enjoy,
and drink to chase back the light

and maybe i’ll leave in the morning,
or you’ll beat me to that particular punchline,
but when we were
when we are
together

i forget the rest

i say to god that he
is just another absent father
and he tells me to
eat my vegetables

i want to ask where he was,
my father?
a god that i
still don’t know if i fully
believe in?

but because i am
a good son,
i will set the table,
carefully lay out the silverware

ladle hot soup into clean
bowls and bite the inside
of my cheek until it bleeds
when my father says that
i purposely gave him less meat

and i want to ask him,
is this all i am to you?
another mouth to feed,
somebody to blame for your
mistakes and the alcohol on your
breath as you scream at me?

where have you gone,
father of mine,
this mythical man that
walks among the clouds,
and what should i pray for?

a father that loves me,
that wants to parent me,
when does this begging to be
seen as his son,
as anything,
taper off into anger?

because i am down on
my knees here,
but still there is no answer,
and i don’t expect there to be